One Little Thing
by aquafizzy10
Summary: With his eleventh regeneration, practically everything in The Doctor's life has changed. New body, new TARDIS, new sonic screwdriver, new companions, new catchphrase... this is a series of one-shots, little "what-ifs." What if one little thing had stayed the same, how would that change the course of events in seasons five and six?
1. Sonic Screwdriver

It was simple, elegant, covered in silver and glowing bright blue at the end. It wasn't a weapon, and that was why he liked it. A strange thing to make sonic, it was an oddity. Like him, it was the only one of its kind. The Master's laser screwdriver was the closest, but as he had so clearly pointed out to the Doctor, it most definitely was _not_ sonic.

He found himself simply staring at it sometimes, at moments when he was alone and was forced to face his thoughts because there was no alien world to save, no damsel in distress, and no companions to entertain. The high-pitched ringing echoed through the new TARDIS, looking so very out of place against the new design.

The Doctor would slowly twirl it between his fingers, shoulders hunched forward as if to protect the precious thing. It was silly, really, considering the amount of danger he put it in on a daily basis. The memories in the old, worn thing were important, but when it came to the life of his lovely Amelia Pond, he would let it get destroyed if he needed to.

Still, that doesn't stop him from putting _himself_ at risk at inconvenient times, grabbing it right before it gets crushed or burned or lacerated. Amy told him he was a lot like Indiana Jones and his hat, and the Doctor could only blush in response, giving her a soft smile at her flattery.

He saw that she wanted to ask, he knew she was aching to know what was so important about the thing, but it wasn't until she spotted him sitting on the console, eyebrows knit together as he stared at it inches from his face, did she approach him.

It was a quiet little thing, there were no feelings hurt, nor any words spoken. Amy walked up the steps and onto the clear platform, slowly making her way over to him. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and she took careful steps, almost as though she thought he would snap at her. He knew she was there, sensed her from the second she walked in and saw her fiery locks out of the corner of his eye, but made no move to let her know of it.

She extended her arm, her fingers splayed apart as she hesitantly reached for it, finally meeting his eyes and asking the unspoken question. Her brown eyes were so big, so innocent, and so new to him… they had only just gotten off of the space-whale an hour or two before. He found himself attached to her already, despite her cocky personality, risky choices, and undoubted faith in him. But Amy was still a fresh face, one he knew he would slowly ruin, suck all of her innocence and happiness out of her until there was nothing left.

So he slowly shook his head, his brown hair falling onto his forehead slightly as he tucked the device into a pocket on the inside of his tweed jacket. He didn't look at her, not wanting to see her face. He trusted her, but she just wasn't _ready _yet.

When Rose took it, it was to repair barbed wire to help protect them all. He remembered that day, that fantastic day, the one rare occasion where everyone had lived. It was well worth it. Everything with Rose was worth it.

Martha, brave, brave Martha, used it to help protect him and several other innocent people. He didn't remember her at the time, and he could never find the right words to thank her with afterwards. She was his soldier, his protector when he was sure he didn't need one.

And Donna… well, in the end, Donna didn't even really need the screwdriver. She knew exactly what it did, how it worked, how to _make it_… she was far cleverer than she ought to have been. The Doctor was almost proud to think that she was smarter than he, but it never mattered. Her memories are forgotten, locked away in the back of her head. The most important woman in the universe and she couldn't even know it.

The Doctor jumped slightly when he felt cool, slender fingers touch his forehead, pushing his hair backwards. It reminded him of how it used to be in his previous regeneration. Amy peered up at him, not saying a word, but never really needing to. Despite her hard front, it wasn't very hard to see how caring and emotional she really was. Concern was painted across her face.

Her fingers slid down his forehead to his cheek, stroking up into his hairline and then back again. He felt himself relax, and though the screwdriver felt heavy and freezing in his pocket, his own hand covered hers, and he couldn't help but give her a small, sad smile.

She frowned further, taking her hand away from his cheek. At first the Doctor was confused, he wondered if he did something wrong- he always feared he would do something that would make his companions leave, more often than not it was it was him that did it- but he soon understood when she wrapped her arms gently around his waist, her cheek pressed up against his chest.

She was much smaller than he was, and certainly much younger, but he couldn't help but release a long breath from his mouth. He encircled his arms around her, returning the hug. He loved hugs, but nothing could ever beat an Amy-hug. He let his chin press into her ginger hair, the smell of strawberries filling his nose. His eyes fluttered closed, and for those few moments, he let himself forget about the past and the terrible, awful things he's done and simply _indulged_.


	2. TARDIS

"So... all of time and space, everything that ever happened or ever will— where do you want to start?"

His voice was persuading, charming, childish, and wonderful all at the same time, Amy found it impossible not to follow him in the tall, blue box that had graced her memories since childhood. Her raggedy Doctor and his magic box… how could she ever pass up the chance, even if it _has_ been two more years?

In the back of her mind, there was the guilty reminder of the beautiful white dress hanging in her closet not fifty feet away. She was confused, conflicted, nervous… and he was the perfect way to figure it all out. Looking him up and down, she followed him inside, disbelief and amazement sweeping through her in quick, heated waves.

It was all real.

She twirled around, her head tilted back as she took it all in. It was lit up by a selected few of the circled lights on the walls. The main colors were blue and copper, tall coral columns reaching up to the ceiling. Amy made her way up the few steps, viewing the console more clearly. It reminded her of an old clock.

"You are so sure that I am coming," she commented, gripping on the railing and leaning on it slightly. She was staring at him with amused eyes as he flipped at switches, twisting some sort of dial. He didn't answer until he looked up, catching her gaze.

"Yeah. I am."

Amy couldn't help but smile, her nose wrinkling cutely as she did. "Why?" It was the most obvious question, curiosity spiking through her. He was so clever, but so oblivious at the same time, she wondered what his answer would be.

"'Cause you're the Scottish girl in an English village. And I know how that feels."

She raised an eyebrow at him, slowly moving closer but still by the railing. "Oh, do you?"

"All these years, living here most of your life and you've still got that accent. Yeah, you're coming."

What made her walk the few steps to his side was the fact that he sounded so _confident_, not the mention the fact that he was right. She tried to ignore the fact that she had just woken up minutes before and was still in her nighty, probably looking like a right mess in front of the man she's dreamed about since she was a little girl.

It pegged at her still, the dress back in her room, but she let it slip away as she grinned up at him, the light in her eyes making her choice quite obvious. She didn't even have to say it, instead asking, "_Coral_?"

"Hey!" He feigned a hurt look and tone, his eyes glancing up at the large branches by the door. He looked so old and young at the same time, both fragile and terrifying and Amy absolutely adored him. "Don't mock my TARDIS."

She ran her finger down the console, an, "I would never," about to pass through her lips, but stopped a moment before as the Doctor suddenly tightly gripping her fingers.

Amy looked up at him with wide eyes, following his gaze to a flashing button that she was an instant from pressing. "That button would have killed us both. Leave the flying to me, Pond."

"Would you teach me?" she asked suddenly, prompted by his order.

"Teach you to what?" he asked in return, lifting her hand from the console. She wouldn't let him let go of her, however, and entwined her fingers with his. It was an innocent enough gesture, the Doctor has held hands with so many people throughout the years that the original intent of it was forgotten.

"Fly it."

"You? Fly the TARDIS? Are you mad?"

"Oh, come on. What's the worst I could do, bring down some coral?"

"That's it," he said playfully, twirling her around and slightly pushing her into the direction of the inside of the TARDIS. "The wardrobe is on the left—dress modestly, there will be people where we're going."

"I get it, Doctor. I'll only dress immodestly when it's just us."

His cheeks went red as he turned back to the console and started to pull levers. "That's not what I meant!"

Her only answer was the laugh that echoed through the hallway.


	3. Outfit

At first, Amy was lost in the TARDIS. It was worse than a maze, she was sure if she took one wrong turn she would be stuck in it for the rest of her life. The Doctor had said her room was fairly close to the console, and even with her footsteps echoing against the walls, she didn't she would be found.

Luckily for her, she was wrong.

It was only a few minutes before she gave up. Amy let out a dramatic sigh, but as she turned around to head back and at least try to find her room again, she was not able to help the loud scream that came from the back of her throat. There, mere inches from her, was the Doctor. He stood straight, hands behind his back, a small, amused smile playing on his lips as he stared down at her. He let out a chastising, "_Ow_," when Amy punched him in the arm.

But she paused, staring down at his outfit with mild confusion. Her fingers slowly uncurled, only centimeters from his arm, staring at a striped brown suit. "What's this?"

The Doctor looked down at himself, "Oh, this old thing? Don't you recognize it?"

Amy's answer was the shake of her head, her dark red curls gently swaying off of her shoulders. She tucked a stray strand behind her ear with one hand, the other touching the soft fabric with the tips of her fingers.

"I suppose you wouldn't," he said lightly, giving a small shrug. "These are my 'raggedy Doctor' clothes when they're not all… raggedy."

"But I thought bowties are 'cool'?" she questioned, her hands dropping to her sides.

"New body, new tastes. I couldn't decide what I wanted, but I still like the suit. Weird, I've never liked the same thing before, though bowties _are_ cool. I'm not impartial to them, but I think I can pull of the suit. I did before, though I was a lot skinnier then. I could go back to the tweed, but—"

"Doctor. _Doctor_," Amy interrupted, cutting off his quick rambling to make sense of it all. "It's all right. I like the raggedy clothes, they look less ridiculous."

"The bowtie was not ridiculous—"

"_Anywho_," she interrupted again, "I'm starving. Where are we? Let's get some breakfast, I think I'm in the mood for something sweet."

"Well—"

"And not alien," she said firmly, poking him in the chest. She wasn't going to put some alien brain in her mouth, no matter how many times he said that she would like it. If they were on some alien planet… well, she was Scottish, she could fry something up herself in the kitchen, if she could ever find it.

"I _know_," he said, exasperated, "especially after last time. We're in France, the year 1892. There is this fantastic restaurant called '_La pomme de terre vert_' which is quite odd, considering its translation. I believe it was established by an American…"

He trailed off, continuing to lecture her on the history of the restaurant, not that she really paid attention. She gazed at the insides of the console room when they entered it, still in slight awe by its beauty. She's never quite seen anything like it, but what caught her attention this time was the beige trench coat hanging off of the railing. The Doctor seemed to have either forgotten about it or ignored it, so she moved from his side to pick it up, examining it in her hands.

"Is this new?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, pausing in his way to the door to look at her. "Oh, no. That goes with the suit. Throw it here."

She tossed it to him and he threw it on over his suit, turning around slowly and asking, "What do you think?"

Amy shifted her weight to her right foot, bringing her hand up to her chin and looking him over, then shook her head. "No, it needs something else…"

Jumping forward, she fixed his collar, propping it up as she loosened his tie. It was brown, like the color of his jacket, but still looked a bit off to her.

"Pond?" the Doctor questioned, his voice going odd, and maybe a bit high but she was sure it was her imagination.

She didn't answer, only tying it differently until it made a nice bow. It wasn't as nice as a conventional bowtie, considering its length, but it was cute and she liked it nonetheless. "Keep the bowtie," she told him, peeking up at his face, "even if it does look ridiculous."

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"… Rory and I dressed up a lot as kids, it was only a matter of time before I had to learn how to do that."

He nodded, letting out a small, "_Ah_," as he did. He was still and silent for a moment more, then grabbed her hand and quickly pulled her out of the door and onto a garden path before she could say a word. "Change of plans, Pond. We're getting croissants and visiting the Eiffel Tower. It was only finalized a couple of years ago, but believe me when I say, it is completely worth it…"

With his free hand, he snapped his fingers, the TARDIS doors slamming closed and locking behind him. Amy swung their joined hands, looking up at him in the same way she looked at the console room, though slightly less obvious. She actually listened to his ramblings this time, or at least more than she did before. She wasn't sure how he knew, but she had always wanted to visit Paris.

Although in her mind, it was always with her hot boyfriend.

She preferred this much more.


	4. Enemy

Amy's nightmares used to revolve around the crack in her wall. They used to magnify the voice she heard, the ringing of alarms that she seemed to only acknowledge in her deepest of sleep, when the world around her could change at the slightest noise. It absolutely terrified her.

She used to wake up screaming, her throat raw and her tears dried up hours before. Her hair would be in tangled disarray, hardly a difference from curl to knot. She kept it cut short until she was thirteen, at that point Melody had convinced her of it, and Rory hadn't said a word for or against it, so she let it grow.

When she met the Doctor again, she didn't dream of the aliens that would have destroyed her planet, nor the prisoner that had lived in her house for twelve years, but of him never coming back for her. Two years had passed and though the terrors had let up, the aching feeling in her chest had not.

The new nightmare had started with just a phone call, and it was of Cybermen.

"Go on," he told her, nudging her side with his elbow in the direction of the ringing phone on the console. She looked at him in surprise, her eyebrows raised halfway to her hairline. The Doctor simply smiled at her, nodding to it as ringing noise echoed through the room.

She picked it up, answering with a hesitant, "Hello?" Her accent was prominent, and the words that followed was a startled, "Sorry—_who_?"

The Doctor bent forward, pumping some sort of control that she didn't really care for, glancing up at her with a waiting grin on his face.

"No seriously, who?"

There was another pause, then she lowered the phone to her nighty, muffling the sound of her harsh whispers. "Says he's the Prime Minister. First the Queen, now the Prime Minister! You sure get about, now don't ya?"

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing, unable to help it as his grin widened. He answered cheekily, "Which Prime Minister?"

She echoed his words into the phone, then quickly lowered it again, "The British one."

"Yes, but _which_ British one?"

Another pause, and then, she lowered the phone and handed it to him, trying to keep her surprise off of her face and her mouth closed. "Winston Churchill, for you."

The Doctor greeted the man fondly, the conversation lasting only seconds before he promised their company. When he hung up, Amy moved to his side as he pointed to a lever for her to pull, but she grabbed the sleeve of his jacket instead. "Doctor," she said, eyes full of excitement and wonder, "are we really going to meet him?"

"Oh yes," he replied, slipping out of her grip and to the opposite side. They locked eyes as the TARDIS shook, and neither of them could hold back their giggles.

The Doctor had not been happy when he found out just what the Prime Minister was hiding. Cybermen, they were called. Amy didn't recognize the name, but the Doctor had taken her out of the room, out of the _building_, before she could get a good look. They had offered them tea, something she would have found funny if it weren't for the burning cold fury behind the Doctor's gaze.

She found the view from the roof extraordinary. World War II, though not her favorite period of history, was awe-striking when viewed in person.

It wasn't until the Doctor made himself scarce did the fear really begin to set in. Amy made her way into the room where the inventor made the robots, catching a glimpse of stray parts and wires and blueprints, the organization making no sense, if it was there at all.

There was an explosion somewhere far above, then the sound of footsteps as the Doctor ran down the stairs, then the hallway, shouting her name at the top of his lungs. Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw something chrome and shiny and hypnotizing, and she was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

It was a head. Very square-like, red and blue and black wires coming out of the bottom, still yet to be connected… or rather, torn, the ends uneven and harshly done. The Doctor said her name again, from the doorway this time, but his voice was very distant as her eyes narrowed at the heavy chunk of metal in her hands.

Something was nagging at her in the back of her mind, a lost memory. It wasn't resurfaced until there was a hand on her shoulder, the gentle voice of the Doctor, "_Amy_."

Images flooded her mind, images thought to be lost and forgotten and repressed, not just for emotional reasons, but because all of time and space demanded it to be so. An ambush on the planet, whole armies of metal men swarming their planet. Her family was on the other side of England, the Cybermen attacking them.

Her uncle was taken, she recalled, and he never returned. Amy didn't even realize she had an uncle. She remembered him clearly, now.

The metal head dropped to the ground, barely missing her feet. The Doctors hand pressed harder to her shoulder, no longer just fingers but a palm as well, sliding down her arm and gripping her elbow. He pulled her to him, her body stiff but moving easily enough. Perhaps she just wanted the hug that he gave her, but it seemed as though she didn't even realize he was holding her.

He waved the inventor out of the room, and the man was quick to his feet, out in just moments. Amy's mind was in shock, and though the Doctor was more than just worried, it was moments before she had sorted through the memories enough to look up at him.

"What's going on in my head, Doctor? It… things didn't _happen_ that way."

The Doctor lifted his hand, wiggling his fingers as he motioned to her temple. "May I?"

She only nodded in return.

His fingers rubbed circled into her hair, massaging her temples as he pressed his forehead to hers. He didn't do it very often, he honored people's privacy, but this was his Amelia and it was the quickest, most personal way of finding out what was going on.

It wasn't like it was with Madam de Pompadour, Amy didn't invade his mind like the other woman did. She didn't need to, she knew all about him that she needed to, and was too emotionally startled to even think straight. But he saw what was happening in her mind, and he could tell why it scared her. Thousands of Cybermen and Daleks, invading the Earth as they travelled through parallel universes… he remembered the night well.

"Amy? Amy, _listen to me_," he said clearly once he had retreated from her thoughts, gripping the sides of her face. Her eyes focused on his, which calmed him only in the slightest. "You have to listen to me when I say that I am sorry, but those memories are real. They did happen."

"I don't believe you," her voice was sad and quiet and desperate, everything he hoped it wouldn't be. "How could I not remember them until now?"

He looked away for a moment, his gaze swarming as he tried to think of something to say. There was no possible way he could explain, tell her all that had happened without going into the bloody, gruesome details. He bit his lip, looking down at her with a hesitant gaze.

It was when she started crying that he kissed her.

She didn't openly sob or look disgusting, but tears had welt up in her eyes and threatened to pour down her cheeks. It was the best way for a memory transfer, and though she could see and hear the things he was showing her, or rather forcing into her head, she was equally aware of their lips smashing together.

He was experiencing her memories just as she was his. He was also kissing her as she was kissing him, their lips clumsily moving together though they didn't even realize it, they wouldn't until much later when they were settled in the TARDIS and Amy was sitting on a couch, her legs tucked under her as a hot cup of tea steamed in her hands.

Her fingers gripped at his hair, twisting it around her soft skin as she pulled herself closer. The closer they were, the more contact they had, made the memories go faster and relieved her fear. His thoughts were dark and hateful, but only of himself and his worst enemies, murderers and creations that knew only how to kill. Even then, he hated himself the most.

The Doctor's hands cradled her head, her cheeks, his thumb running over the red splotches that had only just arisen. He was much taller than she, having to nearly lean over her. Her arm wrapped itself around his neck, and she was on her tiptoes, despite her long legs.

It was minutes before their minds cleared, and though they would never admit it, they kissed much longer than they really needed to.

But the Doctor's little human was tired and worn down, and he was ready to leave the 1940's, the comfort of the TARDIS nearly calling out to him. Amy leaned on him as they walked back, only stopping to bid his old friend goodbye.

The TARDIS was warm and cozy. Amy had only taken a few sips of her tea before falling asleep on the couch. The Doctor picked up the mug, taking a few sips of the Earl Grey tea before setting it down on the table that was beside the couch and picked her up.

She was far too tired to even realize what he was doing, although when she woke up the next morning, she couldn't help but warmly smile as she hugged her pale white sheets to her chest.


	5. Catchphrase

Rory was traveling with them. The Doctor wasn't happy when Amy told him it was the night before her _wedding_, so she cancelled her plans of kissing him in her bedroom and apologized instead. They were both running, and he never stopped, but he was so clever about these things and would have figured out that she was hiding something, eventually. Especially something so big and important.

He was taking them somewhere, that much was obvious. An adventure as a couple, he had told her, and she couldn't make it clear that she didn't want to do it. She loved Rory, she really did, but this was her chance to figure herself out as a person and he was ruining it for her. Amy wasn't even sure if she wanted to marry Rory, she was so young and there were so many more options than a small life in a small town where she wouldn't _be_ anything. And then there was the Doctor, her adventurous, marvelous, silly Doctor, taking her on all of the adventures she could ever need.

Except with Rory there, things would be different.

But Amy smiled anyway, laughed at the Doctor's jokes and gave him a stiff smile. She could tell he knew it was fake, but he ignored it by putting it in the back of his mind, like he always did. He wanted things to work out for her, and the fact made her heart ache.

Rory stood in the TARDIS, looking fairly unimpressed. Moments before, he had told the Doctor he had done some research, and even Amy didn't understand what he said. But the Doctor only narrowed his eyes at him, his voice low and dangerous and cross as he said, "I _like_ the bit where someone says it's bigger on the inside."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, the Doctor the one breaking eye contact as he suddenly yanked his head away, jumping forward to pull levers and push buttons on the TARDIS console. He looked back at Amy, who gave him a thin-lipped smile and a small nod of encouragement.

"Well then," he announced, twisting one final thing before slamming his palm down on it, "Allons-y!"

The TARDIS shook, causing the three of them to tumble over as it tilted violently. Amy gripped the railing, nearly hitting her head by mere inches.

When there was no more shaking and the ship stabilized, both Amy and Rory took deep breaths on the floor, whereas the Doctor was already standing, quite used to it. With a shaky laugh, Amy broke the silence, asking, "'Let's go'?"

Behind the Doctor, who had his eyebrows furrowed, Rory asked, "What?"

"Allons-y," she said in reply, brushing dirt off of her jeans as she looked up at the Doctor. "It means 'let's go' in French."

"You speak French?"

"Well, I took a class, back in high school." She gave him a simple shrug, "Rory took _Spanish_."

"Hey!" he argued, "Spanish is a very important language—"

"Yeah, yeah," she interrupted, punching him on the arm as she passed by, walking to the TARDIS doors. "Are we going to get going?" The two men followed behind her, and with an anxious grin, she said loudly and excitedly as she walked through the doors, "Allons-y!"

Neither Amy nor Rory noticed that as the Doctor turned back to lock the TARDIS once they were all outside, he let his forehead fall against the blue door, a pained expression on his face. He was there for a reason, a very good reason. There was no need for there to be another repeat of Rose, that didn't end well at all… but with each passing moment, he was beginning to regret his decision more and more.

"Are you coming, Doctor?" Amy called out some feet ahead.

His expression composed itself immediately. He twirled around, giving her a wide grin and a thumbs-up. "On my way!"

They were both faking it, and both of them knew it.


End file.
